At the End of a Lifetime.
Under shelter of a roof, now rusty, surrounded by remnants of a once rich life
Alone in a constricted world, with a body wearied and aching
Is a woman born of the bush.
See the dusty piano? Fingers which once could coax music from sticky keys
Are now without the strength.
Tasks of embroidering tiny dolls’ clothes were once a labour of love
Now taking wrappings off food is just a labour.
After many years working alongside the men in times of drought and of plenty
Her companion is now the television
Her workmate is tenacity
Her taskmaster, pain.
Her eyes, which sparkled with love of movement and life
Are clouded with memories
And weary.
The clock measures her day
And slowly ticks off each of the hours.
The hours of laughter,
The hours of pain
The hours of enduring-
Ticks off the hours at the end of a lifetime
copyright bah
photos40, 4 months ago
Beautiful piece. Very well done.
binjy in reply to photos40’s comment, 4 months ago
Many thanks for that…. I appreciate that you took the time :)
Coolibah, 2 months ago
Thoughtfully written :)
binjy in reply to Coolibah’s comment, 2 months ago
:) thank you coolibah.
ltruskett, 2 months ago
So beautifully written. I can see her in my minds eye. Sad.